


No Day But Today

by beltainefaerie



Series: Lost and Found [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bittersweet, Bottom John Watson, Comfort Sex, Developing Relationship, Greg Lestrade is a good man and a good friend, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Melancholy, Porn with Feelings, Post-Reichenbach, Top Greg Lestrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 23:55:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16922805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beltainefaerie/pseuds/beltainefaerie
Summary: Greg and John find comfort as they try to cope with the sudden emptiness in their lives.





	No Day But Today

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Cold Comfort](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16917747) by [janto321 (FaceofMer)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321). 



> This is not quite Johnstrade (yet). Although it is tagged John/Greg, both are still wrapped up in Sherlock Holmes and the Reichenbach fallout. 
> 
> I didn't tag major character death because no one dies in this fic but this series deals significantly with two people processing their friend's death. As Sherlock fans we know Sherlock isn't really dead but the characters don't. If that will bother you, don't read this one. 
> 
> Mer describes her piece as "John is still very much missing Sherlock, and loves him, though he wouldn't admit it. Greg's quite aware of how John feels, but he's here for him anyway." This is Greg's POV in that scene.
> 
> The title is because I couldn't get the song from Rent out of my head while reading Mer's fic or writing this one. The lyrics fit well.
> 
> Lastly, the second fic in this series is chronologically earlier and it wouldn't hurt to read them in that order if you'd prefer.

Greg glanced at his phone then back at the telly. There hadn’t been a text from John today, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t coming over. 

Not like Greg was doing anything else. Still on suspension or worse till they sorted this mess. 

He grabbed a beer from the fridge and was halfway to opening it when he stopped and put it back. There had been more than enough of that self-pity in a bottle lately. Best not make it a habit.

Instead, he grabbed a glass and filled it from the tap, settling back in and losing himself in the mindless flicker and sound. He’d seen this one before, but didn’t bother to change the channel. What did it say about him that when he couldn’t be at work solving actual crimes, he sat here watching Barnaby and Jones do it? He shook his head ruefully. 

He couldn’t help his enjoyment of crime shows any more than he could help the slight quickening of his heart rate when he heard the key in the lock. 

He allowed himself to feel the relief and joy at John’s arrival. Greg didn’t have to worry tonight. _When he’s here, he’s not someplace worse._ Best of all, Greg wouldn’t be alone. At least for a little while.

He hadn’t even looked up yet when he heard the door close and found himself with a lap full of John Watson. He returned John’s kisses fervently, deepening them as he held him close. 

John groaned and pulled back to strip off his jumper before leaning in for another kiss. 

Greg wrapped his arms around him, squeezed his arse. He let out a low moan, feeling himself harden as John ground down against him. He could just strip off John’s clothes out here, let John ride him. Quick and dirty, barely thinking, like the first time it had happened, but Greg needed more today. Just a little more. 

“Bedroom,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss John’s throat. He couldn’t stop touching him, flicking his tongue against the salt of his skin. He nudged John up so they could both stand. 

John grumbled but obeyed. Apparently just as skin hungry as Greg, John didn’t stop stealing kisses as they made their way to the bed.

Greg remembered undressing other lovers, slowly reveling in the reveal of their bodies, giving over in a different kind of way. This was a different need. They made short work of their own clothes, not quite looking at each other as they stripped, though Greg did take a moment to admire John’s arse as he climbed into bed. 

John turned to look at him again and suddenly, Greg couldn’t get into bed fast enough, hungry for touch, sensation, drowning his thoughts in John. Greg pushed him onto his back, covering him, like his body was enough to shield him from this world for just a little while. He kissed him fiercely, desperately, running fingers through John’s hair as he settled between his thighs. 

John’s hands skidded down his back as if searching for purchase. 

It felt to Greg like John was searching for something to hold onto as everything else slipped away, and he pulled back to study John’s face. 

John closed his eyes and turned his head and Greg let out a soft sigh. John wasn’t ready to be seen, wasn’t ready to let go, not yet, but Greg didn’t see anything that told him to stop. He could give him this, these moments. Drown out the darkness in sensation. Like this touch could somehow put them both back together. He leaned in to nibble John’s ear, then his throat, running his tongue over the sensitized skin, tasting him, worshiping him. He could feel John tensing beneath his touch, but he didn’t protest, which was progress enough. Maybe one day he’d get John to finally believe he deserved this. 

Greg moved lower and lower, kissing every bit of John he could reach. He thought about dipping his head lower still, nuzzling between his cheeks and losing himself in the glide of his tongue over John’s sensitive hole, but thought better of it. Maybe he could take him apart more slowly next time, but John wasn’t ready for that today. It would feel too much like love. He bent to kiss the flushed head of John’s cock before rummaging in his bedside table for the lube. That would be preparation enough.

Apparently even that was too long without touch, because John sat up, rolling over to swallow Greg’s cock all at once.

“Fuck,” Greg cursed, then breathed slowly through the sudden intensity of suction and wet, wet heat. He steadied himself, his hand in John’s hair. John bobbed his head a few times. It was so good. Too good. If he didn’t stop now they wouldn’t get what they really needed. 

He nudged John, who got the message. He pulled off and lay back, spreading himself wide, inviting Greg in. 

He was beautiful like this. Greg slicked his fingers then leaned in to kiss him. He circled his fingers around John’s entrance, then pressed in, savoring John’s groan of pleasure. He kissed him again, slowly, feeling John begin to relax and open. Almost there. 

John cupped Greg’s shoulders and pulled him up, rolling his hips. Greg moaned into his mouth, at the pleasure of their cocks slotting together. He deepened their kiss, revelling in the heat of John’s hard cock against his own. 

John pulled away, rolling himself onto hands and knees. Greg sighed. John needed to turn away, almost seeking privacy even in something that was inherently shared. He was coming around, but it was clear that everything was too close, too raw. Greg let him have that space, resisting the urge to press a kiss to the small of John’s back. He placed his hand there instead, steadying himself as he finished stretching John open. When John was pliant enough beneath his touch, Greg shifted, lining up and pushing forward. John braced himself and bore down, taking Greg in. Greg thrust carefully, letting him adjust to the fullness. He leaned down, nibbling John’s ear again.

They couldn’t have saved Sherlock, but that didn’t stop either of them from taking the blame. _Christ, probably shouldn’t even think that name in bed here with John, but why not? He was why they were here, wasn’t he?_ They couldn’t bring him back, couldn’t fill in the what ifs and chances untaken, but they could give each other this. Cold comfort, sure, but sometimes any comfort was enough, just to keep each other breathing. 

“I know I’m not him, but...” Greg whispered against John’s skin. He wasn’t sure he should say it, but John should hear it from someone. “You’re a good man, John.”

“Just fuck me, Greg.” 

Greg’s heart clenched at how damn broken John sounded. He held John’s hips in place, taking charge, despite the way John bucked and pressed back against him. Greg wanted to take him apart with every kind word, every soft touch. To give him any bit of softness he could. He deserved this and so much more. 

“Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not true.”

 _Jesus they were a pair._ “Of course it’s true,” Greg said softly. John couldn’t really hear it now, but he hoped it would help plant a seed. John had a hard enough time seeing his worth even before all this, but Greg saw him and Sherlock had too. “Anyone can see it but you.”

John didn’t reply, but Greg hadn’t expected him to. He thrust deep as John shifted beneath him, taking himself in hand. 

Greg bit his lip, unwilling and unable to say anything more. John clenched around him, trembling as he brought himself off. Some people got over-sensitive, but he’d mapped John’s pleasure like his life depended on unraveling its secrets. _Maybe it did. A mystery he could solve, unlike so much life had given him these past few months._ He remembered John begging the first time and even now his whole body seemed to say _dontstopdon’tstopdon’tstop_. He liked it hard and fast, overwhelming and Greg delivered, pounding into him through the aftershocks of pleasure, letting both their thoughts white out for one blissful moment. 

There was nothing but this bed, this tight heat, the single moment stretching around them and he came with a groan, wrapping John in his arms and holding him close enough to shut out the world. Even his ragged breath sounded harsh in the stillness. He pulled out and nuzzled the back of John’s neck, inhaling the scent of him. 

“I should go,” John said.

Greg’s heart sank at the thought. 

People left. It’s what people did. He swallowed hard against the bitterness of his own thoughts. They could give each other this, pleasure to chase the grief, to taste something sweet for a moment. And it was good, even when a moment was all it was.

It had been so damn long since he had someone to hold through the night. He didn’t think he was the only one who needed it. He pressed John closer. “Stay. Please.” 

John rolled over and opened his eyes, sighing as Greg dropped a kiss on his shoulder and pulled the blankets over them both. Greg couldn’t quite tell whether the sigh was pleased or merely resigned. It was enough for now that he could feel John relax in his arms, settling in rather than jumping up out of bed and throwing on his clothes without meeting Greg’s eyes. Sometimes that was all either of them could manage. God knew John wasn’t the only one that couldn’t handle the closeness, the quiet, that damnable stillness that made you suddenly aware again of what was missing. That the silence wouldn’t ever be interrupted by a condescending text or slammed door and a flurry of manic energy wrapped in a dark coat. But sometimes, the screaming silence could be filled by a warm, solid presence. The pleasure and grief could be shared and for a moment was easier to bear. They needed this, needed each other. 

Maybe it could be enough.


End file.
